In The Dark
by The Ghostly Horse
Summary: It's far easier to admit the truth in the dark, especially to yourself. Sherlock cares about John and John cares about Sherlock. Just something that was floating around in my head and I thought was worth writing down. Not Johnlock. Rated T to be safe. War and torture references.


**Something I wrote because I felt that no one should be alone, everyone should have someone who care for them, even if from the shadows. This is probably the shortest, well anything, I've written, ever. Please read, please review. Seriously, please review.**

It's dark. Too dark to see anything but the barest suggestion of a bed, closet and a bedside table. Not that I need to see where I'm going, I've memorised this place. And John wasn't one to leave random objects lying around, more's the pity. He could be kidnapped, and no one would find out until it was too late. A little chaos was always beneficial.

I made my way to the head of the bed, listening to the deep, rhythmic breaths of my closest friend. Even though he never mentioned it, I knew John was plagued with nightmares from his time in Afghanistan, and I felt an odd urge to protect him from them. Perhaps that was why I worked him until he could barely stand, so he would fall immediately into the depths of unconsciousness.

I crouched down beside the bed, just making out the outline of a tightly curled body against the gentle London light filtering through a wide window. Tonight was a bad night for my doctor, and it twisted my heart painfully that I couldn't do anything about it. I needed to find a case, something to tire John out with so he could sleep peacefully.

John's breath hitched as unseen missiles flew around him and he worked relentlessly to save a soldier's life, maybe succeeding, maybe not, it was always hard to tell. I remained crouching next to him, mentally soothing his uneasy mind to no avail. Tonight was very bad, even for him. Suddenly a gasp escaped John's lips and I froze, praying that if he did awaken, he wouldn't see me. Then it worsened, as my dear friend began to softly moan in anguish.

Terrified, though not knowing what about, I fled John's room, taking the coward's way out. Once in my own room, I sorted through the emotions I had felt, and wondered. I had never cared about anyone as much, never felt the urge to shelter them from every harm. It was confusing, but yet I didn't resent John for making me care, it gave me a purpose. I would do anything for my doctor.

* * *

I woke suddenly, my eyes flying open and heart racing from the nightmare that was still clutching at me. It had been a horrible thing, something that followed me everywhere. Always the same. Sherlock had been captured and was being tortured while I watched, unable to do anything. It wrenched my gut to see the atrocities Sherlock endured, the pain he went through.

I tossed back the covers and held my head in my hands, the echoes of my friend's bloodcurdling screams still lingering. Tonight had been bad. The always-faceless torturers had been particularly brutal this time, severing flesh from bone in the most sickening methods. I needed to get Sherlock on a case. Watching him work always stayed the nightmares. Watching his great mind at work, saving lives and enjoying himself, that's what he needed; a case.

Quietly making my way across my neat room I entered his, keeping to the edges, where the clutter was less hectic. I came to a stop next to the head of the bed, or what I was almost certain was the head of the bed. It was pitch black in here. I slowly relaxed as I listened to my detective's even breaths, making an odd accompaniment with my slowing heart rate. I lowered myself to me knees, finally making out the lanky silhouette of Sherlock.

I stayed there for the better part of a hour, watching over my friend, silently promising that I wouldn't let anything happen to him while I was alive. Sherlock shifted restlessly and muttered something unintelligible and I immediately wanted to save him from whatever was haunting him. I reached out to shake Sherlock awake but stopped myself. He would only scoff at my concern, best I watch over him unseen.

Suddenly Sherlock cried out in anguish and I nearly forgot that I had promised to be his unseen protector, my instincts urging me to end his pain. Cases also gave Sherlock something to focus on and these night terrors ceased. I couldn't bear the cries anymore and I quietly navigated my way out and back to my own bed. I had never cared that much about anyone else before, feeling the urge to protect them from the world. I would do anything for my detective.

**Thank you for reading. I am open for any other suggestions on John/Sherlock friendships. I will try to write more short little stories about the unusual duo looking out for one another. So ideas and suggestions are really, really welcome. Please review!**


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